The Greek's Pregnant Bride

‘Show me what?’

He straightened his shirt, then turned back to face her. ‘I’ll take you to meet her. You can see for yourself why I don’t want my mother anywhere near our wedding.’

* * *

The car came to a stop outside an immaculate two-storey house in a quiet Athenian suburb.

No sooner had the engine been turned off than Christian got out, not bothering to wait for the driver to open the door for him.

The entire drive had been conducted in silence, Christian sitting ramrod-straight, only the whiteness of his knuckles betraying what lay beneath his skin.

It was a demeanour Alessandra had never seen from him before. It unnerved her.

That he’d cancelled his first appointment of the day had unnerved her even more; that, and the grim way he’d said, ‘Let’s get it over with.’

that she followed him

woman with short white hair appeared at the door, lines all over her weathered face, her

and walked back inside, leaving the

a strong smell of

nothing homely about it. What could have been a beautiful home was nothing but a carcass, sanitised functionality at

made no show of hiding her disdain for Alessandra, refusing her hand when Christian introduced them, and looking through her when Alessandra said, ‘Hárika

the stench of bleach was even stronger. No

the pulse in his jawline throb. When he replied, his answers were short but measured. At one point he seemed to be the one doing the talking rather than the listening, his words making Elena dart her blue eyes to

years, Alessandra had never sat in such a poisonous atmosphere as

demeanour. Her eyes were the same blue as Christian’s but were like a frozen winter

by this woman made her skin feel as icy as Elena’s eyes. But Christian couldn’t leave

Christian eschewed any form of emotional entanglement when this was what he’d grown

the name Markos stood for guts and determination but had not appreciated then exactly how great his determination must have been, not just to